


happily ever after

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Category: Jackaby - William Ritter
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 10:17:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16447967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: “I love you too, you know,” she whispered, and it felt frightening yet freeing to finally tell him. They’d of course both known for a while now (she had, after all, quite literally held his heart in her hands), but there was a difference betweenknowingandsaying.“Oh,excellent,”said Jackaby, raising his head to grin at her. “That really is the best-case scenario.”(set post-series. Jackaby and Jenny, in love.)





	happily ever after

Jenny liked touching Jackaby. She liked seeing his dark hair ruffle under her translucent fingers, she liked the way it felt to rest her cheek against his chest, and she liked brushing her nose quietly against his in the early morning. She hadn’t touched anyone in more than twenty years, and she found herself hungry for every sensation—every reminder that she was tangible, physical,  _here_.

Jackaby always swallowed, hard, when she touched him, giving her this dizzy, incredulous smile. All Jenny could think was _how long has it been, love, since someone’s touched you like this?_ He was such an energetic, kind, sincere man; he deserved to be held close and treasured. “Miss Cavanaugh,” he was murmuring, now, as she nestled herself in his arms, then, “no—Jenny. My Jenny.” He sounded almost overwhelmed by it.

“I’m no one’s but my own, Jackaby, and you’d do well to remember it,” said Jenny, keeping her head tucked into his neck so he couldn’t see her smiling.

“I’m well aware,” Jackaby assured her, fingers tracing absent circles on her back. “Though I do hope you know I—” He stopped, and she felt his awkwardly ardent kiss land on the top of her head. Though Jenny was out of practice when it came to touch, it almost seemed as though Jackaby had never even touched another person at all. He wasn’t one for hugs, or holding hands—or hadn’t been, until the burden of the visions had been lifted from him. Now it seemed as though he couldn’t get enough of it. “I expect you’ll laugh at me again if I try and woo you with words,” he said wryly.

Jenny raised her head, biting back a laugh. “The fact that you call it _wooing with words_ is bad enough!” she giggled, cupping his face in her hands. His eyelashes fluttered as he looked at her, still smiling like he couldn’t quite believe she was _there._ “And yes, I really will laugh at you. I think it might encourage you to improve in the field of romance—”

“I love you,” said Jackaby abruptly.

The words took Jenny’s breath away. Metaphorically speaking, of course, because she was a ghost who hadn’t had any breath to begin with. “Oh,” she said softly.

“How’s that for improvement?” said Jackaby smugly.

Jenny started laughing so hard that she toppled off of Jackaby’s lap. Grinning, Jackaby followed her down and onto the floor, cupping her face in his hands as he kissed her against the rug. She was giggling into his mouth. “You _ridiculous man,_ ” she managed between kisses, “you _complete idiot,_ telling me that you love me isn’t all there is to romance!”

“Isn’t it?” Jackaby pulled back. “I should think that romance entails declarations of passionate love.”

“Oh, it does,” said Jenny. “You just also can’t tell me that I _do a perfectly reasonable job of tidying the house.”_

“That’s a compliment!”

“Try—hmm—try  _oh, Jenny, darling of my heart, light of my life, you illuminate a room every time you enter it,”_ Jenny teased.

To her complete surprise, Jackaby looked genuinely bemused. “But you already _know_ that,” he said.

This took Jenny off guard. “I’m sorry?”

“What on earth is the point of telling you things that are _painfully_ obvious?” Jackaby said, all but indignant. “Anyone with a pulse—or, considering our line of work, a handful of people without one—can see that you’re an utterly exceptional person.”

Jenny blinked, stunned. “Oh,” she whispered.

“And frankly, Jenny, I—” Jackaby exhaled, blushing softly. “My admiration for you has always been…significant,” he said. “I honestly believed that the strength of my feelings couldn’t have possibly be missed by an eye as discerning as your own. My aura always went rosy every time you entered a room, and the air always tasted just a bit golden. It was _painfully_ obvious.”

“To a _Seer,_ maybe,” Jenny said weakly. “Certainly not to me.”

Jackaby winced a bit. “Ah,” he said. “Well. I always assumed—that is, I thought—”

Jenny smiled slightly. “No, I still…I always knew you loved me,” she said. “Love me. I just don’t think I ever really understood what that meant.”

“It means that you make me feel safe,” Jackaby said quietly, tracing her jaw with a finger. “And that I want to always, _always_ make you feel that same way.”

In answer, Jenny twined her arms around his neck, pulling him into a soft kiss. His weight was heavy on her, pressing her back into the rug, so she gently pushed at his chest until they were lying on their sides. He was warm, and he held her tentatively; he broke the kiss to press his mouth to her neck. She felt herself shiver.

“I love you too, you know,” she whispered, and it felt frightening yet freeing to finally tell him. They’d of course both known for a while now (she had, after all, quite literally held his heart in her hands), but there was a difference between _knowing_ and _saying._

“Oh,  _excellent,_ ” said Jackaby, raising his head to grin at her. “That really is the best-case scenario.”

* * *

 

Miss Jenny Cavanaugh was tactile, and soft, in a way ghosts surely shouldn’t be. Jackaby had always imagined ghosts as lifeless echoes, and Miss Cavanaugh (no, _Jenny_ ) had initially been no exception—but then she had blossomed, slowly but surely, over the course of the time they had spent together. She had changed. Healed. It wasn’t something ghosts were supposed to be able to do, but then Jenny had never really liked the idea of being _supposed_ to do anything. It was perhaps why Jackaby loved her so much.

Finally admitting that he loved her had been so difficult. Love was such a nebulous concept, something that couldn’t be pinned down by logic or reason or explanation. Loving Jenny was even more improbable, which was why he had had so much trouble adjusting to it. He had been in love with her even before he stopped thinking of her as an echo, and he hadn’t at all been able to understand why, and the confusion of not _understanding_ had led him to distance himself from her.

He had no clue how to express any of these convoluted feelings to Jenny, just yet, but he was certain he would have time. _They_ had time, now, and that was incredible to realize, because he had always imagined that his time with Jenny would be brutally, painfully short.

“And here you are with me,” he said very softly. She was lying on her side in his bed; they hadn’t quite progressed to the stage where she was ready to let him into her room. He respected that. Jenny needed her boundaries, no matter how much she trusted him. Jackaby, however, wanted nothing more than to be close to Jenny, and the times when she slipped into his room in the evening were blessed and beautiful. “I was so very afraid of losing you, did you know that? I have lost—so many people. Too many. I saw you as already lost to me.”

“So you kept me at arm’s length?” Jenny gave him that beautiful, exasperated smile.

“Worked about as well as one would expect,” said Jackaby ruefully, reaching up to touch Jenny’s shoulder. She was cold to the touch, but he could still feel the thin fabric of her dress, could almost imagine soft skin underneath. “You defy all expectations, Jenny.”

Jenny’s eyes closed, her smile widening. “Mmm. And?”

“And what?”

“I’m fishing for compliments, Jackaby,” Jenny said playfully. “You’ve kept me waiting for a decade or so. _Do_ make it worth the wait for me.”

“God, I love you,” said Jackaby, the words bubbling out of him as though they couldn’t be stopped. His hand moved from her shoulder to smooth down her hair, and she hummed, an utterly contented sound.

“Hmm,” said Jenny. “That’ll do for now, I suppose.”

“Miss  _Cavanaugh—”_

Jenny opened her eyes, fluttering her lashes, and then her expression softened. “I’m being silly, darling, you know that,” she said. “You wouldn’t be the man I love so dearly if you showered me in a thousand and one compliments every day. Your actions speak quite a lot louder than your words.” Here she directed a significant look to Jackaby’s hand, which had tangled itself in her hair completely of its own volition, and then her eyes went very pointedly to his mouth.

“You should know,” said Jackaby a little breathlessly. “The—mechanics of ghost-human relations have never been fully explored.”

“From a scientific standpoint, I’d expect you’d want to get on with exploring, then, wouldn’t you?” Jenny whispered, and pulled herself free of his hand, squirming up the bed to lie back against the pillows. Wordlessly, lovingly, she extended a hand to him.

Jackaby’s heart was pounding. “Fair enough,” he whispered back, and moved up the bed to meet her.

* * *

 

Jenny went on cases with them, now, and Abigail _loved_ it. For one thing, there was someone to tell Jackaby not to try and comfort a grieving widow by saying “look on the bright side, whatever killed your husband was like _nothing_ we’ve seen before!” For another, Jenny always brought new and helpful insights to the table, and solved a mystery or two on her own that would have left Abigail and Jackaby stumped. And the third and most important reason was how _happy_ both of Abigail’s nearest, dearest friends were, and not just because of their budding romance.

“Oh, hold on!” said Jenny, pulling on Jackaby’s coat sleeve until he stopped walking. Without offering any explanation, she hurried in the direction of a handful of weedy-looking flowers, picked one, and ran back up to Jackaby, tucking it into his lapel. “There,” she said proudly. “Suits you.”

“I will try not to take offense,” said Jackaby with an amusing amount of dignity for a man who was wearing another of Hatun’s badly knitted hats.

“Oh, shut up, you wear worse things all the time,” scoffed Jenny. “Abigail, tell him, doesn’t he wear the most terrible things?”

Abigail busied herself with fixing Charlie’s cravat. Charlie gave her a very clear _I know what you’re doing_ look, to which she responded with a _don’t you dare give me away_ look and a particularly pointed tug on the cravat.

“I wear _amazing_ things!” Jackaby objected. “Remember that hat that got eaten by the dragon?”

“Good riddance,” Jenny muttered.

“I have _excellent taste_ —”

“In ghosts, perhaps, but not in hats,” said Abigail before she could stop herself. Jenny burst out laughing.

Jackaby, who had gone rather pink, looked a bit affronted by this. “I can have excellent taste in more than one thing,” he persisted.

“In ghosts and in friends,” Jenny allowed.

Jackaby rolled his eyes. “I’m having Hatun knit you a hat,” he said to Jenny. “And you’re going to wear it, because you love me, and because I’m the most amazing undead paramour anyone could have.”

“Jackaby, being brought back to life through chest compressions does _not_ make you undead—”

“Technicalities, Jenny, you just don’t want to admit that I’m _amazing at everything—”_

“The fact that we ever get any case work done is a miracle of its own,” said Abigail dryly to Charlie. Charlie just gave her one of those little smiles and tucked his arm around her waist.

* * *

 

Charlie came to 426 Augur Lane early one morning with news regarding a case, and walked into the kitchen to find Jenny and Jackaby taking tea. Jackaby’s eyes were cloudy with sleep, an unusual occurrence; before he had given the visions to Abigail, it was rare to see him so much as yawn. But he was relaxed, now, wrapped in a blanket and watching Jenny pour tea into a sturdy mug with a drowsy, unguarded smile on his face.

“Honey in my tea, my heart, if you don’t mind,” mumbled Jackaby, waving a hand vaguely in Jenny’s direction. Jenny caught it, pressing a kiss to the knuckles.

**Author's Note:**

> will i write every damn fic in the jackaby/jenny fic tag? that i created myself? you fckn bet i will.


End file.
